One Year to Live
by Shark Bacon
Summary: After a terrifying diagnosis, he only has one year left to live. Why not make the best of it?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is... something new.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It started with headaches. Persistent sort of headaches.

He didn't think much of it, until the bottle of Tylenol ran out. And then he was prescribed some more serious headache medicine. And then that bottle ran out.

And then the doctor told him he should probably have a CT scan done, just to rule out any other possibilities. Headaches and migraines were often caused by stress, but_ just to be safe,_ the doctor insisted. Though Kurt was sure the heavier homework load at Dalton had caused the stress, and therefore caused the headaches.

Even while moving through the large doughnut shaped machine, all he could think of was the waste of time it was. He had homework to be attending to. He had a project in history that he hadn't even started yet.

And then the test results were in, and he was called to the doctor's office. He thought it was odd, being called into the office for these results. But, again, he brushed it off, maybe he'd checked the wrong box when filling out the initial paperwork, and they weren't allowed to say anything over the phone.

So he went in alone, much to old to need a parent to accompany him to the doctor's office, even though Burt had insisted he come along. The nurse had led him into the small office room, her eyes slightly puzzled when she flipped through his chart. Her lips pursed together, but she simply said "The doctor will see you in a few minutes."

Kurt flipped through the magazines left on the counter, rather bored with the old copies of "Highlights" and "Diabetes Today." They should really update their collection, he thought to himself.

There was a soft knock on the door and the doctor quietly let himself in. He was somewhat short for a grown man, maybe a few inches shorter than Kurt himself. He was balding, with a patch of shiny skin glimmering in the fluorescent light, surrounded by a halo of wiry gray hair. The doctor glanced at Kurt and held out his hand, "I'm Dr. Jason Rhodes. You're Kurt Hummel?"

He nodded and shook the doctor's rough hand, somewhat disturbed by the sweat on the man's palms, "So what's the CT result? I have a really important project to get started, if you don't mind if we hurry this along."

Dr. Rhodes frowned slightly, "Let's just have a seat and talk about this before we start hurrying."

Kurt thought that was an odd statement to make, but complied, "Okay... well, what's the result, then?"

"You have a mass. In the right hemisphere. It's a small mass, but we believe it's the cause of your headaches."

For a moment, the room was silent, until finally Kurt spoke, "What are you talking about? What? Like a... tumor?"

"It may be benign, your next step is an MRI. We can schedule one-"

"No, I mean- are you sure those are my results?" Kurt's hands were shaking, "I just have headaches, there's nothing wrong with me, I'm just stressed out."

"Mr. Hummel, I know this is hard news to take, but you really shouldn't panic. There are further steps to take. It may not be cancerous-"

"Wait, cancer?" Kurt stood up suddenly, his body numbing quickly from his toes all the way up to his head. His _head_. "I might have cancer? I don't understand-"

"Mr. Hummel, this is hard news to handle alone, do you have a parent we can call for you?"

"M-my dad, call my dad. Ah—Burt Hummel. You're making a mistake, I don't have cancer."

"I'm not saying you have cancer, Kurt. We just need to do some further testing."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

So that's what was done. Further testing.

First the CT with contrast. A dye they injected into his blood, showing the same mass in the right hemisphere.

Burt and Carole were less than helpful, fretting the whole time. Burt often disappeared into the bathroom while they waited for this result, Kurt was sure he was crying, but trying to hide it.

Then the MRI, which showed the same mass. The same little dot they'd been watching for a week. A dot. It was so tiny, how could it ever be cancer? How could that tiny dot ever do anything? The MRI was black and white, the dot was a pale gray. It looked different, but... how could it cause any trouble?

This test was somewhat harder for his family to handle, though they all assumed it would bring the same result. Burt and Carole stayed somewhat calm throughout this ordeal, though Finn was the one who lost control during this test, begging and crying for Kurt not to die. Kurt could do little but hug him back and assure him that he wouldn't die, but he could barely force himself to make that promise.

Then came the "stereotactic biopsy." It was terrifying thought, a biopsy of Kurt's brain. They were going to _take_ a piece of his _brain_. Well, that's not entirely true, he thought to himself as they shaved a small patch behind his right ear. They were going to drill a hole in his head, and take a piece of his _tumor_. A tumor was what they'd so lovingly started to call it. It was no longer a mass. It was a brain tumor.

The doctors were very reassuring, but Kurt thought they really had no choice in the matter. They weren't going to tell him he was going to die during the procedure. Sure, there were risks he was informed of, but what was the alternative?

He had to stay awake through the procedure, strapped in a barbaric sort of head-holding device. Though, to be honest, the worst part was the numbing shot in the scalp. He was almost certain the hole in his head would hurt quite a bit the next morning, though.

Throughout the whole procedure, he had to answer degrading sorts of questions, "Who's the current president?" "What color is this?" "Ten times four?" Some sort of neurological test, evidently, to make sure they weren't destroying his brain during this biopsy.

And then they had to wait. Biopsy results took time to get, apparently. Even when there's a family falling apart at the seams waiting for them.

Burt didn't hide his tears anymore, often turning on the waterworks at the sight of Kurt lately. Carole gave him hugs randomly, often assuring him everything would be okay. Finn failed to make eye contact anymore, usually hiding himself in his room and losing himself in his Xbox when Kurt was home.

But Kurt was mostly numb. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel upset or scared, or even angry. Maybe it just hadn't hit him yet. He still got out of bed in the morning and continued his moisturizing routine at night. He still ate healthy and avoided sweets and carbonated beverages. He still called Mercedes for an occasional chat.

He hadn't told her, though. He hadn't told anyone, and had forced his family to keep it to themselves as well. He didn't need the whole school bursting into tears when they saw him.

He hadn't even told Blaine. He actually hadn't seen Blaine since before the biopsy. He wasn't sure how to hide the small spot behind his ear where they had cut into his head. It was easier to claim to be busy, or not feeling well, than to admit to Blaine what was going on in his life.

And then the test results had come in.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Hey, Puck."

"Hummel?"

"Yeah. I just. Um. I need you to get something for me." He shifted the phone against his ear, fiddling with a pen on his desk.

"We're not even friends, dude, what do you-"

"I want some drugs."

"_What_?" the voice on the other end was doubtful, "What are you talking about, are you recording this or something?"

"No, Puck. Just... hook me up."

"Dude."

"Just... Just meet me somewhere. Uh... Breadstix. Meet me there. Can you do that today?"

"Nuh-uh, not meeting up with you in a public place, Hummel. That doesn't turn out good for anyone."

Kurt let out an exasperated sigh, "I'm picking you up, now. Put some clothes on, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"What-"

Kurt hung up, grabbing a long red scarf on his way towards the stairs.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Are you wearing a wire?"

"No, Puck, I'm not trying to get you arrested." Kurt's hands gripped the wheel to the Navigator tightly, his knuckles white, "I just... I have stuff going on. I need... something to deal with it."

Puck laughed, "What? I'm supposed to give you drugs because your boy toy broke up with you?"

Kurt's grip tightened on the wheel, but he shook his head, "Puck. Please."

But the laughing only continued, "Dude. Shut up. Your life is perfect, you have a nice family and you go to some fancy school with fancy uniforms, I'm not giving you drugs-"

"I have cancer," Kurt interrupted, his eyes connecting with Puck's.

For just a moment, Puck was silent. He ran a hand across his mohawk, the stubble surrounding it rough against his palm, "What?"

"They're giving me twelve months to live. That's the average, I guess." Kurt shrugged and flicked his blinker on towards McDonald's, "Listen, I'll buy you a Big Mac or something, on top of paying for whatever you'll give me, I just..."

"Dude, what, uh... What kind?" Puck's eyes had yet to wander from Kurt, and it was making him rather uncomfortable.

"Brain cancer. Uh, Glioblastoma multiforme, I guess, is the medical name. I start chemotherapy and radiation next week." Kurt pulled the large vehicle into a parking spot and turned to look at Puck, "Just don't tell anyone. I just want to be normal. For as long as I can."

"Dude, this... this sucks."

"You're telling me." Kurt pulled his wallet from the center console and tossed it to Puck, "Take whatever you need to hook me up."

Puck tossed it back, "Don't worry about it. Are you sure, though? I mean, what are you looking for?"

At this, Kurt had to think. He hadn't given it much thought. He wasn't a kid that did drugs. He didn't know what he wanted, besides _drugs_. "Just, uh, whatever. I don't know."

Puck unbuckled his seat belt and dug deep into his back pocket, then handed Kurt a small Ziploc bag, "Uh, this is all I've got on me, dude.

"Um... Uh, thanks. I don't... I don't know what to do with it." Kurt looked closer at the contents, they were sort of fuzzy and green. _It doesn't look anything like oregano_, he though to himself.

Puck laughed again, "Listen, uh, come over tomorrow, around noon, my mom will be at work."

"But, we have school-"

"Dude, forget school. We're going to have a good time."

Kurt nodded uncertainly, _why not? I only have a year left to live, anyway.  
><em>_  
><em>O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/N: I don't really know what I'm doing with this.  
>I'm thinking this will be Kinn, or even Puckurt eventually?<p>

We're going to start off with Klaine, but I'm going to put a quick end to that.

Reviews, please, I love even cruel critiques.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: XD you guys crack me up. You all vote for Purt/Puckurt (whichever you prefer to call it), but of course that's what you're going to vote for! I posted this in the Kurt/Puck section!

Sorry. I giggled.  
>I still don't know which way I'm going yet.<br>But I know it's not Klaine.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next day, Kurt had dressed down somewhat, but even having cancer was no reason to go out looking like a slob. So he'd worn a deep green button up shirt and a dark jacket with gold buttons, settling for a tight pair of distressed-style jeans for the day. He hadn't worn that particular pair of jeans in forever, they'd gone out of style long ago. But he highly doubted Puck would even notice, and he was the only person Kurt was planning on seeing that day.

A headache pounded in the back of his head, but he'd long given up on Tylenol and other over-the-counter medicine. He hoped Puck's drugs would do something about that as well.

Kurt had still crawled out of bed early in the morning and performed his moisturizing rituals, and still bid his parents goodbye at eight, exactly, just as he would if he'd have had school. But instead of heading to the school, he drove to the small Lima mall and purchased a low-fat smoothie in the food court. And waited.

Three and a half hours passes pretty fast when you only have twelve more months to live.

He watched the mall walkers, mostly. Mothers with young children not yet in school, old people power walking, other juvenile delinquents like himself skipping school. He smirked, _when did I start grouping myself with juvenile delinquents?_ He sucked up the last bit of his smoothie and shook his head,_ I guess when I started setting up dates to skip school and smoke pot with Puck._

He thought maybe he should be doing something worthwhile. Maybe he should be making a bucket list, so he could mark off everything he had to do before he died. Kurt grabbed a pen out of his messenger bag and unfolded the napkin that had come with his smoothie.

_Number one_, he wrote slowly, as to not rip the delicate paper napkin. He paused. Did he have anything he wanted to do? He wanted to write "Sing on Broadway," but that was sort of out of the question at this point. That was on his bucket list _before_ he found out he was going to die. Instead of writing what he wanted, he numbered down the napkin to number ten. He had to have ten things. There _had_ to be at least ten things he wanted to do before he died.

_Okay_, he thought, determined, _number one: skinny dipping. Yeah_. _But in a pool, not in a creek or somewhere unsanitary_. He'd always wanted to do that, sort of. _Number two_... Kurt drew a small flower in that spot, then crumpled the napkin up and threw it across the table. He had nothing he wanted to do before he died. Not a single thing that would anchor him to the earth until he finished.

He checked his phone, it was only ten. He'd only been occupying himself for and hour and a half. There were a few texts on his phone, a few from Mercedes, one from Finn, and one from Rachel.

_Finn_, he thought, surprised, _Finn noticed I'm gone?_ He opened that text, surprised at the contents, "blaine said ur not at schook, im not going to tell mom or Burt but r u ok? Have you told blaine yet?"

He texted back with a smile, "im alright Finn, im at the mall. Thx for not telling." Of course he hadn't told Blaine yet. He didn't know how. He didn't want to worry about that yet.

Kurt finally let out a sigh and shoved his phone back in his pocket, then grabbed his bag and stood. Puck would surely let him come over early.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Dude, you're like an hour and a half early."

"I've been at the mall since eight thirty."

Puck's small strip of hair was sticking up in the back, and his white t-shirt was stained down the front, "Right, uh, come in. It's not really clean or anything."

Kurt nodded and tried not to wrinkle his nose at the mess of Puck's home. There were piles of clothes beside the couch, and it was dark and smelled something like a basement. There was a basket of assorted toys, mostly barbies and other dolls belonging to Puck's sister, Kurt assumed.

Puck led him through the kitchen to a set of narrow stairs that led up to Puck's room, messier than the rest of the house combined. "I was, uh, going to clean. You're just early."

"Right," Kurt said shortly, and set his bag on the bed, "Um, thanks for this, by the way." 

"Yeah, no problem. Just uh, call me if you need to again. When you start, you know... Chemo, and stuff. My grandma had to have chemo and uh... It helps."

"Yeah," Kurt replied quietly, "Yeah, I've heard it does. What about headaches?"

"Oh yeah! It's the best for headaches!" Puck's face brightened, "So, you wanna do this? Uh, go ahead and sit, I've got to get my stuff..."

Kurt did as he was told and Puck dug around under a pile of dirty clothes in his closet. Finally, Puck dragged out a small box and set it on the bed beside Kurt.

"I'll get it going, but, I guess I'll tell you how. It's going to burn, kind of, and you're going to cough, but try not to. And put it in your lungs, not your stomach. And just hold your breath, kind of. I mean, breathe eventually, but... you get it, right?"

"Yeah, I think." Kurt watched as Puck lit a twisted sort of cigarette, and he knew that it was called a joint, but it felt strange to call it that. Puck sucked in deeply and held his breath for a moment, finally releasing it with a short fit of coughs. Kurt's heart raced.

"Ready, dude?"

"Um... yeah." Kurt did as he had watched Puck do, sort of surprised at how much the smoke burned in his throat and tasted the way it smelled, something like burning plastic or garbage. It made his mouth water, and he felt it was really hard to hold down in his lungs. He thought he might throw up. Suddenly, he coughed violently, and Puck laughed.

"It'll get easier, dude. I have Cheetos. You'll want them later." Puck took another long drag and offered it back to Kurt, who complied once again.

For a few minutes, everything was normal, and Kurt was a little disappointed. He still had cancer, and was still in Puck's smelly room, and was still skipping school. And then he was in a dream. It wasn't like the movies, where everything was colorful and wonderful, but it was definitely something he hadn't ever experienced before.

He watched Puck slink down to the floor and grab the bag of Cheetos from his night stand.

He watched the tree out the window shake and sway with the light wind.

He watched his fingers move against the slick fabric of the sleeve of his jacket.

And then he laid back on the bed and watched the ceiling fan spin and spin and spin, and realized he could do this for hours.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next day was a little tougher. Kurt had gone to school, at least, avoiding Blaine the best he could. He avoided all his friends, really, just focusing on his school work. He'd even skipped practice with the Warblers, using the excuse that he didn't feel well, and just headed home.

And the therapist he'd spoken to briefly had told him that would be normal. People who were dying had a tendency to distance themselves from their loved ones. Not that he should do that, but it's a very common thing to do.

He'd decided therapy probably wasn't for him, anyway.

When he'd pulled into the driveway, his phone buzzed quietly against the cup holder he'd tossed it in, and once he'd thrown the Navigator into park, he pressed the side button.

_Blaine..._

He tossed the phone into his bag and walked into the house, _I can't deal with that right now._

Inside, Finn was waiting on the couch, his foot tapping impatiently, "Dude, where have you been?"

"I had to drive home, Finn. I'm not that late."

Finn sighed, "Well, dude, I've been worried."

"Why?"

"Well, you know..."

Kurt frowned, "No, I don't. It's not like-"

"Yes it is!" Finn stood up, towering over Kurt, "It is! You're acting all strong and different, and it's- Dude, it's... I'm just worried about you."

Kurt pursed his lips together, but didn't speak a word.

"I just... I just try to take care of you. And I just, I know you don't like it, but—but this isn't like school! I can't just get mad and beat up some kid! It's like—it's like you're some ticking time bomb, and there's nothing I can do!" Finn's eyes were teary, but he quickly brushed his fingers across the lids to wipe them away.

"Finn." Kurt's eyes narrowed, "How do you think I feel?" He curled his fingers into fists, his nails digging into his palms, "How do you think I feel? You think I don't _feel_ like a bomb? Like I'm some disaster that's going to destroy my family's life?"

"Kurt, you're-"

"No! No, don't even- don't even try," tears ran down his flushed cheeks, he was furious at himself for crying, but not nearly as furious as he was at Finn for bringing it up, "I don't want any apologies from you. I don't want anything from you." He turned quickly towards the basement door, but Finn grabbed his wrist.

"No. No, dude, don't leave. Please. I just...let me start over."

"Let me go."

"Puck told me."

"_What_?" Kurt ripped his arm away from Finn, his tears now freely flowing down his cheeks, "Why?"

"He's worried about you, and so am I. And I just- you were late coming home, and I was so worried. Kurt, he just thought I should know, since we're brothers-"

"We are _not_ brothers, Finn." Kurt hissed, "Just leave me alone." He spun away and ran down the stairs, slamming the door behind him. He slid down against the back of the door and held his head in his hands. His head was pounding and his hands were shaking, and Kurt didn't know whether to blame his own brain, or the emotions tearing through it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Boo, sad Finny Finn. I just love him. I don't know where I'm taking him, but I know I love him.  
>And no Pucky Puck love in this one. I sorry. Other people seemed more important right now.<p> 


End file.
